


I got soul but I'm not a soldier (unless it's the apocalypse)

by purple_cube



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the vampires up their recruitment drive, Mitchell, George and Annie hope that they haven't left it too late to stop Herrick from destroying all of humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I got soul but I'm not a soldier (unless it's the apocalypse)

**Author's Note:**

> A pinch-hit for apocalyptothon 2010, for avariel_wings who requested Being Human: "Herrick's plan worked; what do our three heroes do?" This is an AU that deviates from canon sometime during Season 1 Episode 6, and assumes that there was no fight between Herrick and George. Many thanks to madjm for the beta.

 

The Autocue begins.   
  
Somewhere to the right, a cameraman holds his hand up, counting down silently on his fingers to warn the presenter that they're going live. Three...Two...One.  
  
“Good evening, and welcome to our special seven o'clock bulletin.” The woman pauses deliberately, as she has done countless times during this job. _Always build the tension first_. “Authorities in four of the largest cities in the UK have confirmed that the 'West Country Plague', as it has become known, has spread. Casualties have been recorded as far apart as Glasgow, Birmingham, Manchester...and more recently, London.”  
  
“The Government has repeated the advice administered yesterday by the Health Secretary and the Prime Minister. If you live in one of these cities,” she unconsciously leans forward, her voice becoming more urgent, “then you are strongly advised to stay at home. Schools, universities and many public sector organisations have been ordered to close. Hospitals have closed their doors to all but extreme emergencies. Do _not_ leave your home unless you absolutely have to.” _Please_ , she adds silently.  
  
The cameraman holds his hand up once more to indicate that they're playing the recording of the Prime Minister's speech. The presenter breathes a sigh of relief, running a clammy hand through her long auburn hair. _Almost there. Just need to get through this and then barricade yourself in the house like everyone else._  
  
Three...Two...One.  
  
She smiles briefly to welcome her audience back. “To reiterate, you are advised to stay in your homes. Hospitals have been overwhelmed by alleged survivors of the plague, and the Police have been inundated with outbreaks of violence believed to be associated with the spread of the disease. As yet, there has been no word as to whether the Government will be deploying the army to restore order on our cities' streets.” _And finally_ , “We'll see you at ten o'clock for the main evening bulletin. Alternatively, tune into our twenty-four hour news channel for further developments. Have a good evening,” she smiles, not quite withholding the relief she feels at making it through to the end.  
  
Lights flicker on to indicate that they are no longer broadcasting to the nation, and the studio bursts into life. The woman doesn't bother tidying up her papers, instead heading straight for her dressing room – and her coat and bag.  
  
A commotion near the exit to her right catches her attention. People are starting to gather, and some of the crew members are looking distinctly irate. She lingers near the edge of the expanding crowd.  
  
“What's going on?”  
  
Alice, one of the producers of the lunch-time show, fills her in. “Security won't let us leave. The lifts are broken and the door at the bottom of the stairs is blocked -”  
  
Her boss, Toby, grabs a chair on his way to the crowd and sets it down in the middle. Standing on it, he signals for silence.  
  
“Sorry folks, but they've locked the doors and boarded up the windows. We're sealed in. Nobody can get out...” he pauses, “...but no one can get in either.”  
  
*  
  
 _Should've taken the fight to Herrick._  
  
It's always the first thing Mitchell thinks in the morning, after that initial moment of blissful ignorance, before every detail comes flooding back in glorious Technicolor. He should have known that Herrick would up the pressure – though even he couldn't have predicted just how quickly things would escalate.  
  
They had hit the cities first. It made sense; it's exactly what Mitchell would have done, exactly what both he and Herrick had been taught to do in the war. Create organised chaos that only you can find your way through.  
  
They left Bristol as soon as the first News bulletin hit the air. _Avon and Somerset Police along with Bristol General Hospital have reported an alarming rise in unexplained deaths in recent days. There appears to be no link between the victims, with wide ranges in their ages and backgrounds, and with the attacks occurring all over the city and outlying areas, and at different times of the day. We have been told that officials are not ruling out the possibility of an air-borne virus._  
  
The cover story was rubbish of course, Mitchell knew that. But in the age of Swine and Bird Flus it seemed the most logical option to both the authorities and to the public. And it was far less panic-inducing than _vampires are waging war on humanity – and now for the weather_.   
  
Of course, the powers that be hadn't reckoned on the harm coming from within one of their own establishments, in the form of Herrick. In hindsight, Mitchell should have known that he would try and recruit the Police Force first. It really did make resistance futile.  
  
The barn feels as cold as the surrounding countryside when he enters, hastily stubbing out his cigarette beneath his heel. He can see numerous gloved pairs of hands rubbing together in the vain hope of creating body heat, and all conversation grinds to a halt when his presence is detected. Mitchell is relieved to see that he doesn't recognise anyone, showing firstly that Herrick isn't aware of this yet, and secondly that just maybe he hadn't gotten to the hospital staff that he and George had worked with. Yet.  
  
“My name is John Mitchell,” he announces. “If you've found your way here either by direct invitation or through an acquaintance, then it means that you want to put a stop to the madness. Well, so do I.”  
  
Most of the ones that he knows are new 'recruits', disgusted by Herrick, his followers and the way of “life” that they have forced upon others. Others are old school, and have travelled from near and far to play their part in a war that has been inflicted on them as well as humanity.  
  
Mitchell makes sure that he takes the time to speak to each of them individually. He teaches them what he can, urging the young ones especially to resist the hunger pangs, suggesting ways of compensating for giving up blood.   
  
He can tell just from looking around the shelter that not all of them will last. Some will succumb to the bloodlust, just like he himself has thousands of times. And that's why he needs to act fast – before one of them finds their way into Herrick's clutches.  
  
They're all frightened. He doesn't blame them. So is he.  
  
He needs to tell them one last thing as they begin to disperse.   
  
“Remember. We're the resistance – there's no one else. _We_ are humanity's last hope.”  
  
*  
  
 _No one gets left behind._  
  
George didn't realise just how close to the truth Josie would be. It started in Bristol of course, but when the media began reporting 'disturbances' in Glasgow, George could tell from the look in Mitchell's eyes that this was it. For once in his life, his use of the word _Apocalypse_ was far from an exaggeration.   
  
The obvious place to start once Mitchell had finalised the plan was the churches. Truth be told, no matter how many times he did it, it never got any less weird to walk into a church and ask the priests and vicars to consider joining their band of not-so-merry men and women. _Yes, Vicar, I appreciate that you may not believe in vampires, but the fact is that there is_ something _happening, right here, right now, that can't be explained. There is evil out there, and for once in our humanity's history, religion can_ truly _play an important part in defeating it._ Cue a big, hopeful smile. _So, whaddya say? Is Jesus with us?_  
  
In fact, once word got out, he didn't even need to contact leaders of other faiths – they came to him. Five rabbis, seven imams, four Hindu priests and even two monks. George has to smile as he looks around the room; _had taken a bloody Apocalypse_.  
  
The village church is small, but it's secure, because unlike Mitchell, George can be certain that there won't be any traitors in his midst – not in a house of worship.  
  
And of course, it doesn't get any less weird for a lapsed Jew-cum-werewolf to find himself standing on a church altar and addressing leaders of a variety of religions – on the topic of vampires, no less.  
  
“You may not agree with me about what these creatures are, but you know for sure that they are not human. You are all men of God in one form or another, and I have found – through experience, I should add – that these creatures, these _vampires_ , are repelled by religion. _Any_ religion,” he adds.  
  
“We need you,” he pleads, taking the time to look each of them in the eye. “We need religious symbols, we need religious words that only you know...we need you to protect us and our allies.”  
  
“Your allies?”  
  
George nods. “There are others who we can rely on to help. I'll...I'll explain when we meet them,” he decides not wanting to overwhelm anyone with talk of werewolves and ghosts and _not-evil_ vampires.   
  
“If we let this evil spread any further, they're going to wipe us out,” he says with emphasis on every word. “Believe me, they will not leave any survivors.”  
  
“We need to take the fight to them.”  
  
*  
  
The village primary school had seemed like the best place for her meeting, but Annie starts to have second thoughts as she tries to squeeze into the ridiculously small plastic chair, before opting to stand. The classroom is almost full, so she grabs the chalk and hastily scribbles her name on the blackboard.  
  
 _Annie Sawyer_.  
  
She pauses, the chalk hovering for a moment, before taking the plunge.  
  
 _Kicking Undead Arse_.  
  
She hears a brief snigger as she turns around and faces her audience.  
  
“Good evening, folks. I'm Annie, and I've been dead for two years – and I've been living with a vampire for most of that time.” There is an audible gasp, and she raises her voice as she continues. “He's one of the good guys, I promise you. And even as we speak, he's in a meeting just like this one. So's my other flatmate, who's a werewolf,” she adds, hurriedly.  
  
She pauses, taking a moment to cast her eye over the room.   
  
“The vampires, the bad ones that is, they're on the verge of being unstoppable. They started off as less than a hundred, but now they're recruiting as many as that _every single day_. If we don't do something right now, it will be too late. There'll be too many of them.”  
  
“We're ghosts,” a male voice in the audience calls out. “What d'you expect us to do?”  
  
“I'm a ghost,” she points out. “And I know from experience that there _is_ something we can do. We can become poltergeists.”  
  
The reaction is a mixture of raised eyebrows and disbelieving snorts, and nothing that is remotely encouraging.  
  
Annie holds her hand up. “Hear me out. It's happened to me. And though I couldn't control it, I felt more powerful than I ever did when I was alive.”  
  
“So you want us all to become poltergeists?” asks the same voice as before, but with twice as much scepticism.  
  
Annie nods. “Can you imagine how much damage we could do to the vampires? Don't you want to stop them from hurting your loved ones?”   
  
This time she receives a few earnest nods in reply.  
  
“The trick to becoming a poltergeist is to allow yourself to become emotionally unstable,” she continues. “I know that some of you have lost people recently. I know that others are victims of the vampires, people that they tried but failed to recruit. You need to harness _any_ feelings that you may have that are associated with the vampires. Fear, anger, revulsion...anything that could help you fight them.”  
  
She bites her lip. “Look, I'll be honest with you. I can't make you become a poltergeist, and I can't make you want to help us. So I want you all to go away and think about it. Think about whether you want to do this. And if you decide that you do, well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow,” she finishes with a hopeful smile. Some – but by no means all – of her audience smile back.  
  
One by one they file out, leaving only George at the end of the room. She hadn't seen him come in.  
  
He smiles affectionately. “You did great, Annie. I'm really proud of you.”  
  
She makes her way to her flatmate, pushing some of the now empty chairs aside along the way. Halting just in front of him, she concedes the truth.  
  
“I'm scared, George. I mean, I'm really bloody terrified.”  
  
He nods, lips pursed. “Me too,” comes the honest reply.  
  
“What if they can't do it?,” she asks desperately. “What if I'm not strong enough to control my own powers as well as help them with theirs? What if -”  
  
“Hey, it's okay,” he reassures her, moving to grasp her shoulders. “We all need to take this one step at a time, and make sure we can bring _something_ to the fight, even if it's not as much as we had hoped for.” He smiles, so awkward and cheesy and so very _George_ that she can't help but return it. “Now, no more what ifs. Remember, if anyone can do this...”  
  
“The world's gayest ninjas can,” Annie finishes with a roll of her eyes.  
  
*  
  
Her name is Eve. She's thirteen years old and the star of her school's athletics team. Her Mum doesn't like her volunteering, of course, but Eve is stubborn and manages to convince them all that she has what it takes. Even her Mum.  
  
She wears a long scarlet-red jacket that Mitchell got for her. _It'll be easy for everyone to track her._ She walks the last two blocks to the funeral parlour by herself, not wanting to give the game away.  
  
She pauses outside the door and takes a deep breath. Her fingers involuntarily grip the torn passport-sized photo that rests in her pocket.  
  
 _For you, Dad._  
  
The door creaks as she opens it, leading her into a crowded reception area. The vampires turn, but don't seem overly concerned at the stranger in their midst.  
  
“Are you Herrick?”  
  
The man at the centre of the crowd looks up at her, amused. At least, until his sneer turns into something a little more sinister. Mitchell had said that he “liked them young”.   
  
“I've seen you on the News,” she continues, defiantly. “You're the one in charge. Been telling everyone that the plague's nothing to worry about and that they should call the Police if they're concerned.”  
  
“And what if I am?” he says, still sneering.  
  
Eve takes another deep breath. “I have a message for you. From _Mitchell_.”   
  
And that does it, that wipes the smug smile from his face.  
  
She doesn't wait. Mitchell had told her to start running as soon as she said his name.  
  
So she does.  
  
Eve runs until her legs ache, slowing only when she nears the rendezvous point. For a split second, she wonders if she's gone to the wrong place. But then she sees a hand beckon to her from the shadows. _Mum_.  
  
She reaches the safety of the shadows just in time to see the first few vampires enter the clearing, followed quickly by Herrick.  
  
“Where is she?!”  
  
“Gone,” one of them shrugs. Herrick lets out a frustrated cry and kicks the ground. By now they've been joined by the others. Mitchell had said there would be fifteen or so – it looks at least five times that to Eve.  
  
Herrick is in the middle of barking instructions to his goons when a sharp whistle catches everyone's attention.  
  
A low murmur starts to fill the air, the vampires wincing as they decipher the meaning of the chanting, regardless of any language barrier: it is a call to _God_.  
  
Heads jerk and bodies twist frantically as comprehension dawns. Silently, an army emerges from the shadows that surround the clearing.   
  
The faint rumble of multiple growls echoes to their right. The vampires only need to use their sense of smell to know what the sounds emanate from. George stands in front, his chin held defiantly high.  
  
The sharp hiss of twice as many vampires catches their attention on the left, eyes blacker than the night sky, Mitchell standing tall at the helm.   
  
From behind, there is a sizzle of electrical energy. Annie stands ahead of the others, her right hand raised as a spark flies between her thumb and middle finger.  
  
And in front of them stands Eve, with many more humans, all armed with at least one thing that's wooden and with a sharp tip.   
  
_No one gets left behind._  
  
Well they, the resistance, won't leave anyone behind either.   
  
Herrick shakes his head in disbelief as he takes in the situation. Finally, he punches the air, shouting defiantly into the thunderous night sky.  
  
“Game on!”

 


End file.
